But it wasn’t the harassment that bothered her. Spurlock looked up. “I’m not gentle. I’m in a mess—a nasty mess! a filthy mess! Oh, no end of a mess! “Do you hear, Ann Veronica?—you’re in a nasty, filthy, unforgivable mess! “Haven’t I just made a silly mess of things? “Forty pounds! I haven’t got twenty!” She got up, stamped with her foot, and then, suddenly remembering the lodger below, sat down and wrenched off her boots. The books would be soaked and ruined in the rain anyway through the thin skin of the pack. " "Would you like to have me read to you?" He did not answer. Beyond the steps was a pole-chair in readiness.
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